


when you're old enough to understand

by theoreticalpixy



Category: Thor - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen, Mother-Daughter Relationship, body acceptance, body issues, haircut incident aftermath, non-sexual nudity, puberty & coming of age, various mythological family basis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-01
Updated: 2013-10-01
Packaged: 2017-12-28 02:40:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/986703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoreticalpixy/pseuds/theoreticalpixy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It didn't all turn black. Or to put it blithely: the one were Sif comes to terms with her pubic hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when you're old enough to understand

**Author's Note:**

> Non sexual underage nudity. Implications of underage sexual activity.  
> Honestly I'd call this is all very tame as far as anything goes but I'd rather be upfront so people are aware and can make informed choices.

It’s dead of night and a young girl, not really girl anymore, a young woman, stands nude in front of mirror. She stares impassive. Or near enough so. A tremble through face and when the soft creaking footsteps of her mother near she whips around fast but doesn’t run. Hands cover her womanhood and her throat catches as she tries to find some justification. Some lie that will make her mother leave and forget. She has none. A noise stutters from her lips. 

“I - uh,” the truth rushes out, the confession all she has left, “It’s blonde.”

Her mother’s face softens and the moments seem endless for Sif. She didn’t even say it right, that’s not what she meant. But it’s the only things she has. It’s blonde. It’s still blonde. 

“Oh, dear one.” And then Sif’s crying as Uor sweeps her into her arms. There’s one good shoulder shuddering sob and Sif hates the tears but it all feels a relief. Her face feels hot with embarrassment as she cries into her mother like a child many years younger. 

She’s 16. She’s barely 16 and she hasn’t let any of the boys see her full undressed but sooner or later she’s going to get tired of waiting or someone will see and what if Thor laughs?

(She knows he won’t. But what if it’s some other boy. What if he tells.)

She bore the scorn and teasing once, Sif is not sure she could bear it again. Give her monsters to slay instead. Blade to hack away at danger and fist against flesh. Give her a battle she can win. 

Not taunting blonde curls that only come back even when she tried to shave them away. A cruel reminder. 

“We can make it black,” words assure as a hand pets over her hair. The raven-black tresses that are to blame for this mismatching upset.

“No,” she wipes the water from her cheeks as she pulls away. “No, just get rid of it. I know some ladies do please show me how,” she begs. She can barely do a handful of spells but if one will let her not have to worry about this indignity she will study it night and day. 

“I can show you a spell…” the words a little slow but Sif believes. She can see it in her eyes. “Go put on your shift.” Gentle hands nudge her along and Sif’s eyes glance to her discarded clothing.

“Now?” she checks before grabbing the garment to pull on. She wants to be rid of it. She doesn’t want this reminder anymore. 

“Yes, now. But quick, you should be resting.”

They stay up an hour regardless, teaching words and practicing before Uor finally makes her go to bed. She doesn’t quite have it yet, and there are tear tracks all over her face, but it’s a start.

It takes a week. A week and too many questions and another hour of furtive practice at her mother’s guidance in addition to her own constant practice, but at the end she can get rid of it, or make it grow back or even turn it black. Her mother insisting she might someday want to know how and better to learn it all in one go.

Perhaps she feels a bit foolish as she whispers it away with words. So worked up over a little tuft of hair. But it’s hers now, however she wishes it, and that is one aching worry less for the young warrior. So while it is a very private victory, it is indeed a victory.


End file.
